---- Chapter 22 22 The flood of information from his ten-million-dollar reward was overwhelming. Thousands of tips. Most were useless, cruel hoaxes. Some seemed plausible, leading to frustrating dead ends, like the European chase. His team of investigators worked around the clock, sifting, verifying. Liam knew it was a flawed, desperate strategy. But it was the only one he had left. He was a man adrift, clinging to the wreckage of his life. Then, a new lead. Stronger this time. A grainy ATM photo from a small town in Oregon. A woman matching Maya's description. Followed by a credit card transaction for art supplies at a local store. Maya loved to paint. It was her escape, her solace. Hope, fierce and irrational, surged through him. He didn't hesitate. He flew to Oregon. He arrived in the quaint, artsy town, his heart pounding. He went to the art supply store. The owner, a kindly older woman, remembered her. "Yes, a lovely woman. Dark hair, quiet. Bought a lot of ---- watercolors. Said she was new in town, looking for inspiration." "When was this?" Liam asked, his voice tight. "Oh, about three days ago," the owner said. "She mentioned she was heading south, maybe towards California. Said she wanted to paint the coastline." Three days. He had missed her by three days. The timing coincidence was a cruel twist of the knife. Another false trail laid by Maya? Or had he genuinely, narrowly, missed her? He didn't know. The uncertainty was maddening. He drove south, along the rugged Oregon coastline, then into California. He stopped in every small coastal town, showing Maya's picture, asking questions. Days blurred into a monotonous cycle of fleeting hope and crushing disappointment. He found traces of her, or what he thought were traces. A bookstore owner who thought he recognized her. A coffee shop barista who said a woman like her had asked for directions. Always "had been," never "is." He was a ghost chasing a ghost. He ended up in a desolate motel room in Northern California, the sound of the crashing waves a mournful soundtrack to his despair. He looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror, ---- A stranger stared back. Haggard, haunted, broken. This was what his choices had made him. He had loved Maya more than life itself. And he had destroyed her. Destroyed them. The weight of his regret was a physical burden, crushing him. "It's my fault," he whispered to the empty room. "All my fault."